Taming Individuality
by Tindual
Summary: Bella considers herself an individual, not controlled by society. So why does she feel that her individuality has no place in the real world?


**Disclaimer:**(def. a statement made to save one's derier) If you recognise it, its not mine. Although the opposite cannot necessarily be said for what you don't recognise. The title of this this story is one that I can categorically claim as mine.**  
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**Prologue**_  
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_Iniquitous_.

An obligation borne out of necessity.

The only words to describe this 'quarterly' Friday night dinner with my mother, since my move to Forks. We hardly see each other anymore, now I'm forced to make time for her once every three calendar months so that she could meet her mother-daughter bonding time quota for the year, after which she can feel less guilty about pissing off to do whatsoever her heart desires. Pathetic really and yet the injustice of it all, is that she asks me the same questions at every meet and every time I have the exact same answers for her; 'no mother I am not seeing anyone at the moment', 'yes I will be careful when I do', 'no mother, I am not gay', and 'yes mother, should I feel the need to come out of the closet I am not aware of being in, you will be the first person I notify, you are my mother after all and you have earned your right to be the first to know'.

Honestly, it is as though she has a sieve for a brain, she's been hearing the same answers for the past four years yet she cannot seem to comprehend the fact that I am not interested in dating or even men in general at the moment and rightfully so. I am eighteen years old, I have another six months to graduate from high school and hopefully attend the University of Plymouth in England but I cannot do that if I have some idiot in my ear everyday telling me how much he misses me and how incapable of rational thought he is in my absence. What kind of crap is that? Am I supposed to drop my pants after that and tell him how difficult I find it to imagine life without him? Only to have him ignore me a few days later because he has moved on to his next target, meanwhile I'm left with a broken heart because I was stupid enough to believe his lies. As a result of which, I spend the next few weeks or even months of my precious time either beating myself up for having been so stupid, or feeling sorry for myself because the idiot broke my heart, or worse still, being obsessed with having a makeover that will get me any guy I want just so I could prove to the idiot who broke my heart that I am better than him? In the end, what good would that do? The idiot would have consumed my every thought to the point where my education would have taken the backseat thus, no England and no desired future? I think not.

I would still rather take my chances at having my mother think I'm gay for a little while longer than to concern myself with those trivial aspects of life. If that means sitting in a fine dining restaurant every once in a while to listen to my mother prattle on about the important things in her life, then so be it.

Today's torture is not too dreadful though, the decor of the restaurant makes up for the lack of stimulating conversation I know I will have to endure for the next two hours or so.

The setup of the restaurant, while simple, is nothing short of elegant. A semi-circle divided in the middle by glass, the square tables are covered with white tablecloths with red runners, the chairs are fitted with red cushions to sit on but the carpet is black with circular patterns on it so it offsets the red. The soft lighting is in the form of spotlights in the ceiling going around the semi-circle where the tables are. Behind the glass divider is a centre with polished oak wood flooring which looks more like a stage and in its middle, is a black grand piano which I'm guessing will be for their act tonight. The notice at the entrance of the restaurant has already informed us that tonight's act will be one 'Edward Cullen'. I sigh in relief that my mother decided that we should come here on a Saturday night and not our normal Friday of which I would have been faced with the torture that is Salsa dancing, an exploit I'm sure would have warranted audience participation, something my mother would not let me bow gracefully out of. No, this piano is a good thing, as long as this Edward Cullen does not insist on a duet with a member of the audience, the restaurant staff and their customers will be spared from listening to my mother and her horrendous singing. As the Maitre d leads us to our table, I cannot help but notice that by putting the tables on the outside of the glass divider, it guarantees each table a view of the outside greenery consisting of flowers with a variety of colours that I cannot name but I do know that one is pink but not a rose, another is yellow but not a sunflower and there is a blue one which I think may be hydrangea but what the hell do I know? I like the pretty flowers and quite frankly I'm a little less bothered about their names.

Our seat faces the side of the piano, which means we would definitely be able to see the performer as well as he could see us. On the table next to us is an impromptu table of six, all couples judging by the way they refuse to keep their hands of each other. Four of them look like they could be my age, while the other two look slightly older although not old enough to be their parents. I'm guessing the four teenagers have the kind of parents who are under the illusion that their children will be less mischievous under adult supervision, well good luck to them I suppose because even under supervision, these children are doing a lot less eating and a hell of a lot more kissing and groping.

'So Bella, your dad tells me you're hoping to go to England to study?' my mother starts as soon as we are seated.

'If I can maintain my GPA' I tell her, the key with my mother is to keep the answers short and precise with bonus points if I can manage to confuse her using words she is unfamiliar with.

'But isn't England expensive and far?'

'Not when you have a full scholarship, Mother' I reply, hoping she understand the concept of why beggars should be unfamiliar with the concept of choice even more so when it involves a full scholarship to a school in another country, but being my mother of course, the concept eludes her, the poor dear.

'It is far though right and I won't get to see you as much?' she asks this time with genuine concern in her voice.

Now we come to the crux of the matter; the only thing that bothers my mother is whether she would get to see her daughter at a time which is convenient for her or if heaven forbid, she has to plan ahead and make time as the rest of us do.

'Yes mother, it is far and it won't be different from how things are now, we could still see each other once in a while', I reassure her with a smile.

'Couldn't you have found a school closer to me that is just as good?' she asks me, slightly more upfront regarding her issues with my choice. Naturally, it has nothing to do with what is best for me but rather what would be more suitable for her.

'No mother. When you don't have much money to fund your education, you don't get to pick and choose where to study.' I state, clearly indicating the end of that conversation. Some days I have absolutely no patience for her self-centeredness and I am even more delighted that we are interrupted by our waiter.

'Good evening ladies, my name is Sergio, I will be your waiter this evening. Could I get you anything to drink?' he asks, all the while responding to the goo goo eyes my mother is giving him with his own.

I should be used to the fact that my mother enjoys attention from guys my age or barely older than me but the logical side of me refuses to accept that how injudicious she can be. On the one hand, I understand her need to find someone with the same mental capacity as hers, but does is have to be someone barely older than her own child?

'I'll have a glass of sparkling water, please' I tell him and turn my attention to the piano at the centre of the stage in the hope that whatever this Edward Cullen has to offer is infinitely better than watching these two undress each other with their eyes this evening.

The piano must have captured my attention more than I expected because I certainly did not notice when Sergio left our table nor when he returned with my drink order.

'Is he more your type then, I notice you haven't taken your eyes off him since he sat down' Mother stated.

'Is whom my type? What are you talking about?' I wondered, she couldn't have meant Sergio because I don't think I could remember what he looked like. Which, come to think of it, isn't a very good idea, I should be able to pick all of my mother's acquaintances out of a line up should the need arise. Note to self: look for Sergio's distinguishing features.

'The guy playing the piano, you've been staring at him for a while now' my mother answered. She's right, I have been staring in that direction for a while but in all honesty, it was to escape my mother's flirting, I had not noticed when the performer sat down at his bench to start playing. However, if I tell my mother this, it will no doubt bring about another line of questioning I would rather avoid.

'Well, anyone who can play the piano and sing, earns a bit of my respect as I can do neither' I tell her instead, which is also entirely true just not necessarily relevant in this case.

'He's also not bad looking, doesn't look much older than you either. Maybe you should talk to him-' she pushes.

'I'm certain I shouldn't mother' I interject 'when I'm ready to date, I'll let you know whom I pick.' I conclude with a tone that suggests that my love life or lack of one is no longer up for discussion tonight.

'Besides Mother, you should be grateful I'm not dating right now, most parents don't encourage dating until their children are at least thirty!' I add, in an attempt to make light of the situation. My mother, like the child she is, does not like to be told off therefore the only way to avoid a tantrum is to cushion the blow.

'But I can't wait that long! We barely have anything to talk about as it is.' She complains.

'You know, you could try asking me how I'm doing at school? How I feel about my scholarship? Or an even easier one; ask me about your ex-husband and what it's like to live with him? Those are very good, lengthy conversations right there.'

'Boring! Oh, I love this song' my mother says excited about the new song Edward Cullen is singing. It's an oldie apparently, but a really good love song, she claims as she sings along at the chorus.

_'Don't know much about history, _

_don't know much biology,_

_but I do know that I love you,_

_and I know that you love me too..._'

At which point, I look away from my mother to the Edward Cullen who's demeanour suggests that this isn't choice of song. He is looking over to the family next to us and smiling so my guess is that this is their request, the fact that they are all starring into each other's eyes and swaying to the music confirms my suspicions. Fools! Only in their limited worlds would not knowing 'much' about science or history be acceptable. As though it is ok to be daft as long as they are in love, preposterous!

Yet again my thought processes are disturbed by the insipid waiter and his constant need to be around my mother when he brings us our starters.

Upon finishing my two fish cakes, Edward Cullen interrupts his performance by saying a few words.

'Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I hope you are enjoying your evening so far-' he says until he is distracted by the noise of approval from the group on the table next to us. Seriously, where are their parents? It seems their irritation is not limited to the public displays of affection they participate in.

'The next few songs will be popular favourites from the past few decades, after which I will end tonight's show with a song of my choice' he concludes, followed by a round of applause from the audience. He resumes his playing while my mother attempts another conversation in encouraging me to have a love life.

'Bella, he's really good looking' she suggests.

'I'll take your word for it mother' in truth, I don't tend to notice whether a guy is good looking or not, most of them irritate me to no end so I generally avoid looking past their asinine personalities.

'Honey, look at him! That sexy unruly hair of his, the chiselled jaw, straight nose... Ok he's a bit pale but who cares? He's tall, lean and handsome. What more could you ask for in a man?' she enquires as though she still could not fathom why I am not falling over this guy as I should.

'I'm sure if I were asking for a man mother, I couldn't possibly ask for more than one made in God's own image according to you. But since I'm not asking for a man right now, I'm content with watching you drool over a guy half your age' I inform her.

'He's not half my age, what is he? Around your age?' she asks.

'You're right mother', I laugh, 'he's not half your age. He's at least a year younger than half your age!'

'Oh hush, I'm not that old' she states as though trying to convince herself that her year of birth is not indicative of her age.

'Speaking of men half your age' I mutter under my breath as the Sergio brings us the main course.

'Bella!' she scolds, earning her another round of chuckles from me. Her attempt at authority is always nothing short of hilarious.

Thankfully, my mother doesn't take too well to mockery and is thus silent throughout our main course. She looked as though she enjoyed her beef wellington as much as I did, which is in itself a surprise as we hardly enjoy the same things. Another unexpected thing about this restaurant, but a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

My mother opts out on desert under the guise of being too full but in reality, I know it is likely because she doesn't want to seem too greedy in front of Sergio. Another thing I cannot comprehend about this so called love, if it is as unconditional as they claim, then why do people feel the need to present a 'false representation' of themselves just to get the other person to love them?

My inner ramblings are once again interrupted by Sergio bringing me my cheesecake, who knew white chocolate and raspberry, would work well as a cheesecake flavour? This could be a very bad thing though, because now I may just refuse to go to a restaurant unless they serve white chocolate and raspberry cheesecake.

'Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you have enjoyed your meal and your evening.' Edward Cullen says, I take it this is the part where he sings a song he chose.

'This next song will be my last for this evening, have a good night.'

Wonder which jejune love song he's going to bestow upon us now.

'_Court is in session, verdict is in_,

_no appeal on the docket today, just my own sin_...' he starts and even I must admit I'm amazed.

Really? I don't think I've ever heard someone claim that as their favourite song, aside from the fact that the song is at least ten years old, it is also a very dark song but not blatantly so.

He continues and I note carefully how he sings the words that his whole demeanour has changed. No longer do I see the playful performer who was singing songs for applause, now I see a man hunched over in his seat as though his own piano is intimidating. From the bow of his head to his tentative strokes of the keys, I cannot help but wonder what is in this song that affects him that much, while his reverence for this song is irrefutable.

'_Shackled by my sentence expecting no return,_

_here there is no penance, my skin begins to burn..._'

Why would a guy my age be convinced that he has done so much wrong that he can no longer find forgiveness, I wonder. Normally, they are more concerned about getting laid and beer to worry about anything else, but not this guy. Maybe he is one of those people who are older than they look. To sing of being in hell as though you are actually living in hell is no easy feat and I am loathed to admit that I may have underestimated this Edward Cullen.

'_So I held my head up high_

_hiding hate that burns inside..._'

This time, as the song suggests, he lifts his head and stares into the audience and being in his line of vision, I am forced to look directly into his amber coloured eyes. Another first for me, I generally make it a point to not look directly into people's eyes unless I'm in a formal setting, otherwise it's just too personal.

Looking into Edward Cullen's eyes tonight proves my point since right now, all I see is a very troubled person. I can see his attempt to hide the anger he feels and when he sings.

'_We're all held captive out from the sun,_

_sun that shines on only some_...',

His eyes have a cheeky tint to them while he looks over to the loved-up group next to us. It seems he knows them, well that would explain their excessive support and applause and the private joke they seem to be sharing because they are all laughing at the same line. Must be something to do with the sun, perhaps they hate it? What do I care really? I am concerned for this guy as I would like to know what could possibly be going on in his head to warrant such strong emotions from this one song, but is that enough to want to know what the private joke is? Certainly not.

_'I cried out to God seeking only his decision,_

_Gabriel stands and confirms, I've created my own prison_'

He laments, and for some inexplicable reason, he is staring at me still with a look in his eyes that suggests he's close to tears and I can't help to feel sorry for him and whatever his struggles may be.

With the songs conclusion, I find myself giving him a standing ovation much to my own and my mother's surprise, especially because I am the only one in the restaurant to do so.

'Oh Bella, I'm so happy! You've become a woman, you finally have a crush!' my mother says with a glint in her eyes.

'Mother please, this has nothing to do with a crush and everything to do with the fact that he just gave his first real performance of the night.' I explained but of course I may as well be talking to a brick wall, ignoring the fact that she has just measured my femininity by my emotions toward the opposite sex.

'Baby, there's no need to pretend. I saw you looking into his eyes, you looked very smitten' she points out.

'Oh mother, you caught me and I thought I was doing so well!' I retort, feigning surprise.

'Mock me all you want my dear child, but what is it you say?' she asks, 'many a true words said in jest'

'Mother, that was not jest, it was sarcasm, there is a difference.' I clarify, the poor thing can get confused sometimes.

'Good show, Edward, I really enjoyed the music' my mother says as Edward Cullen walks toward our table. He stops and thanks her for her kind words then turns to me,

'Thank you also, I don't think I've ever had a standing ovation for any of my performances, let alone that one' he states and already I am irritated.

Just because I gave credit where it was due does not mean you have to tell me your life story, what makes you think I want to hear it anyway? Okay maybe I did want to know a little bit about why he sang that song so well, but he should have waited for me to ask and not assume that I would automatically want to know.

'Anyone who can sing that song as though it was written for them specifically deserves a standing o in my opinion. Most people know the song but they don't understand the struggles behind it, you obviously, did. So, bravo.' I reply, keeping it simple and to the point, I'm really in no mood for another conversation, my mother was enough. He looks a bit surprised by my response and asks,

'You've heard the song before?'

Insult my intelligence why don't you? Of course, I've heard the song, it is one of my favourites. He doesn't need to know that though, he's pissed me off enough for tonight.

'Scott Stapp writes very well' I reply with indifference, then turn to my mother 'shall we go, then?'

This is the irritating thing about the male of the species, you finally give one a chance to redeem himself and how does he repay you, by underestimating your intelligence thinking that he's the only who identifies with one of the greatest songs of the last decade of the twentieth century, idiot!

My mother's reaction is like that of a fish out of water with her mouth agape, and her eyes exuding too much pressure to stay in their sockets.

'Close your mouth Mother, you wouldn't want _Sergio_ to see you like that now would you?' I tease, knowing she wouldn't be able to resist. I know I should care whether Edward Cullen has left our table or not but I don't, but from the corner of my right eye, I notice six pairs of eyes staring at me, so I'm guessing that he's gone back to their table, good for him. I can't have my mother getting ideas about me going soft on the male species, the woman can be relentless in her quest to find me a boyfriend and it can be time consuming, it is far better to distract her now before she gets excited and starts telling me of which manner I may or may not talk to a guy.

'Who's Sergio?' she asks, confused.

'You mean you don't even know the name of the guy you've been drooling over all night?' I know I should be surprised, but this is commonplace with my mother. I'm pretty sure she has slept with a few guys having not known their name and even some who's face she couldn't recall once she arrived at her own house.

'Shall we say same time next year, mother?' I ask, eager to get back home to the book I'm reading.

'Oh baby, must you always sound so formal?' My mother pleads, her pathetic attempt at a pitiful look, laughable.

'Mother, you know that doesn't work with me and besides..'

'Excuse me' I hear someone shout from afar.

'As I was saying, I have schoolwork...'

'Hi...hello...excuse me?'

'Yes dear, did I forget something?' my mother responds to the voice.

'No, no you didn't. I was simply hoping I could have a word?'

'Bella, I think she wants to talk to you' mother says, coupled with distinctive eyebrow wagging.

'Me?' I ask, finally turning towards the direction of the voice, when I notice that this girl is from the public display of affection table.

'Yes, I hope I wasn't interrupting anything?' she enquires with an annoying tone that I'm sure usually helps her get what she wants on a regular basis.

'As a matter of fact you were, so do make it quick I ...'

'What my daughter means to say is' mother interjects, 'that she can spare a few minutes' she concludes in an attempt to play the stern mother role. I let it slide, I will be having words with her later if this ends up being about her brother or some crap like that.

'Oh, that's ok' she giggles 'I just wanted to thank your daughter for giving my brother a standing ovation, that song means a lot to him and it was really refreshing to have someone else appreciate it for a change, so thank you very much! I'm Alice by the way, Alice Cullen' she says, pointing her hand to her chest.

'You're welcome, Alice. However, we really must be going' why people feel the need to tell me their life story, is entirely beyond me.

'Alice dear, please excuse my daughter _Bella_ here for her lack of manners, I'm Renee by the way' Mother extends her hand and in so doing, she ensures the fact that I will not be communicating with her for the next few weeks.

'It's nice to meet you Renee, and you don't need to apologise, I've been told that I can make people feel uncomfortable at times.'

'Not at all dear, my daughter just lacks the necessary social skills to function...'

'Mother, I really must be going, it is getting pretty late. Do text me to let me know you've arrived home safely, goodnight. Goodnight Alice'

Enough of that nonsense, I have a book waiting for me and perhaps a very familiar album to listen to.

**A/N**: _This is very much a work in progress, so please bear with me while I give a less popular Bella a voice._ _Thanks for reading!_


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